


The Pall of a Past World

by Babble



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Action, Betrayal, Canon-Typical Violence, Clone Wars, Clones, Drama, Gen, One Shot, Order 66, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:35:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25635169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Babble/pseuds/Babble
Summary: Hours before the 501st sacks the Jedi Temple, clone trooper Kix wakes up with a fresh head wound and countless questions. Everything has changed since the battle over Coruscant: his brothers, his Jedi general, and even the war itself. Good soldiers follow orders. Good soldiers follow orders. Good soldiers follow orders. But not this soldier, and not these orders.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15





	The Pall of a Past World

On the night the Republic died, Kix awoke on an unfamiliar cot with a headache that could've brought a Cerean to his knees.

"Be still, sir. Your injuries have not fully healed." A spindly medical droid looked down at him, yellow photoreceptors blinking soullessly. A 21-B unit, standard Republic issue. "My designation is KH-49."

"Where am I?" Kix asked, already sitting up in bed. The windowless chambers were small, but well-outfitted with medical equipment. He smelled antiseptic chemicals and bacta on the air. _Not a battlefield._ The 501st had never fought on a world where Kix had been able to tend to wounded soldiers in a room as clean and private as this.

"This is the Grand Republic Medical Facility." KH-49 set down several tools on a tray and rotated its head to view one of the vitals monitors. "Please list your most recent memories. Don't be shy. The full extent of your cranial trauma must be measured."

"Cranial trauma?" Kix gingerly touched the bandages wrapped around his forehead. "Um...the last thing I remember is preparing our Venator's medical bays for incoming casualties. We hadn't even dropped out of hyperspace yet."

"Do not touch that," the droid chided, pushing Kix's hand away. "Honestly, medics make the worst patients. You were struck by debris when a bulkhead in your vessel imploded. This occurred shortly after your clone battalion joined the fighting. Fortunately for you, it appears there was no lasting damage."

"The battle…" Kix recalled the short briefing he'd attended while they were enroute to Coruscant. The audacity of assaulting the Republic's capital had shocked even the most cynical of his brethren.

"Just goes to show," Hawk had muttered from his place beside Kix in the crowded room. "Grievous is as bloodthirsty as a mad kath hound. Hope we finally get to put him down."

"Did General Grievous survive the battle?" Kix asked, already trying to shift out of bed. "What of the rest of the 501st? Is General Skywalker alright?" His eyes flickered to the door.

"You are not leaving this room without my approval," KH-49 stated, as if sensing his intentions. "Or this bed, for that matter. If you stop attempting to escape, I will share with you what little I know."

Kix groaned and collapsed back on to the cot. It wasn't as if he hadn't dealt with hundreds of injured clone troopers before that were acting just like he was now. When a man had been bred to do nothing but fight and die for the Republic, it was damn hard to convince him that his only choice of action was to lie down and close his eyes.

KH-49 walked to a terminal in the wall and began pressing buttons. "You have been resting for approximately seven rotations. Much has happened in that time. Count Dooku was killed shortly after you suffered your injury, but reports of Grievous' demise are only hours old. The rest of your battalion is being quartered in the lower levels of the facility. I don't know the status of your Jedi general."

These staggering revelations did nothing to relieve Kix's headache. _Kriff, Dooku and the head clanker in one week?_ Apparently, all it took for the Republic to win the war was for one of their medics to receive a superficial head injury.

"Years of fighting, hundreds of dead brothers, and it all ends without me." Kix smiled, but he wasn't sure if it was bitterness or relief that summoned the expression. _Maybe a little of both._ Now maybe the rest of the clone troopers could find the peace that had been denied to men like Fives and Tup. _The worst of it is over. At long last._ "Wait a second. You must have a few bolts loose, droid. You said the 501st is _here?_ In this hospital?"

The droid paused. The blue light from the wall terminal washed over its cold face. "Affirmative. I have triple-checked. Your battalion was transferred here on special orders from a classified source."

"Well that doesn't make much sense at all." General Skywalker wasn't the kind to relax on Coruscant while there were still battles to be fought. Even with Grievous and Dooku dead, Kix was sure there were separatist armies to mop up all across the Outer Rim. There was also a certain indignity to it: for years, the 501st had fought on the frontlines against overwhelming odds. And now, when the time came to sweep away the seppies and finally win the war, they were sitting back at the capital while other battalions were still out there fighting and dying? _No. That's not us._

Another thought struck Kix. "Look...KH-49, was it? No offense to your capabilities, but I'm sure as blazes not the only medic in the 501st who survived that battle. It's nothing personal, but we clones prefer to tend to our own. My men know that. So why am I sitting alone in this medbay with only a droid looking after me?"

"I'm unfamiliar with your procedures," KH-49 replied. "And I'm incapable of feeling offense. Other clones did insist on treating you, for most of your time here. According to the logs, your counterparts ceased their regular visits six hours and seven minutes ago. No other clone trooper has entered this level of the facility since."

 _So much for brotherhood._ Every clone knew the horror of waking up from an injury to see a droid hovering over them. When Kix had had no other choice but to work with medical droids during the war, he had always tried to make certain his unmasked face was the first thing his wounded brothers saw. _Maybe they're all celebrating the end of the war. Could've left me a bottle on my bedside, at least._

"Am I free to go?" Kix asked, trying to keep the worry out of his voice. For some reason, he now felt almost desperate to see another clone. Fives had been treated in this same hospital, not too long ago, and he'd ended up dead not soon after. _At least I haven't started accusing the Chancellor of treason. At least, not that I know of._ "I'd like to rest in the barracks tonight, next to my brothers."

"Very well. I trust that you know well the signs of internal hemorrhaging. It is your own choice if you unwisely decide to exert yourself in this vulnerable state." By the time KH-49 finished speaking, Kix had pulled on his boots and was halfway out the door. His bandages were discarded on the floor. The droid looked after him and made a mechanical sound that approached exasperation. "Clones. Always rushing off to the next battle. Even the supposed medics…"

* * *

Night had fallen on Coruscant. One side of the turbolift was completely glass, so Kix could watch all the glittering and ephemeral lights of the city as he descended the tower. A strange gloom seemed to hang over the tall buildings, and there was less air traffic in the skies than he recalled from previous visits. Not that the 501st had ever spent much time on Coruscant, up until now. _And when we did bunker here, it sure as Jawa spit wasn't in the bowels of the GRMF._ There were perfectly serviceable military lodgings all within view. _The Republic Center for Military Operations, for one. That place could probably house the entire army._ Kix could even see gunships regularly taking off and landing, presumably transporting other soldiers. Many battalions had participated in the Battle of Coruscant, and none of them had any qualms about leaving their wounded on the planet while they jetted off to other engagements. _Not that I'm foolish enough to believe an entire half of the 501st stayed behind on my account._

After what seemed like hours, the turbolift finally settled to a halt somewhere on the lower levels. He had directed the droid-controlled input apparatus to take him to wherever the 501st had set up shop. _Appo sure runs things differently than Rex._ The latter commander usually chose the highest floor available whenever the 501st had the opportunity to bunk in elevated spaces. It gave them the best view of future battlefields. And on Republic-controlled worlds, it helped them remember what they were fighting for. Many a Coruscant-bound clone spent their few free hours just watching the thousands of speeders soar through the cityscape, observing the millions of moving souls so many of his brothers had died to protect. On occasion, Kix had done the same thing himself.

Of course, sometimes there were strategic advantages to hunkering down on the lower levels. Many more soldiers could be moved quickly from place to place, loaded on to larger troop transports than simple LAAT gunships. _But that doesn't check out. As far as Coruscant is concerned, the war is over._ There could be another, simpler explanation...one that Kix pointedly refused to entertain as he walked down dimly lit corridors. _There's no reason we'd need to conceal our movements in the Republic's capital world. Whatever's left of the Separatists already knows we're here, from the spanking we gave them in orbit._

Finally Kix caught a glimpse of stark-white armor with familiar blue markings. Sighing in relief, he followed the distant soldier until more of the 501st gradually entered view. According to the blueprints he'd briefly reviewed on his way down, this level had previously been used for storage of medical supplies. His brothers had done an efficient job of converting it for their use. Racks that had previously held specialized healing instruments now creaked under the weight of DC-15 blaster rifles. The side rooms had been transformed into so many barracks, with old cots pushed up against the walls and pieces of armor resting on large sterile trays.

"What, no welcoming committee?" Kix joked, trying to catch the eye of one of his passing brothers. Those clones that weren't wearing their helmets barely spared him a second glance. He saw no idle hands: every soldier in sight was cleaning their weapon or preparing their gear in some other way. This tense air was uncomfortably familiar to him. He'd felt it on Christophsis, on Geonosis, on Mandalore and Umbara.

"Hey," he said, catching the arm of a man brushing by. "Is there about to be a battle somewhere I don't know about? I just came from the upper levels."

There was nothing warm in the other clone's empty stare. "You should be getting ready, soldier. Report to your commanding officer."

"But what's-" The clone pulled his arm free of Kix's grasp and continued on his way, not looking back.

"Someone needed a little longer in their growth tank," Kix muttered, wondering why in hells the man couldn't have given him a straight answer. It was time to find a clone he recognized. The 501st was composed of over nine thousand clone troopers. Half of their strength had gone to Mandalore with Rex and Commander Tano, but that still made out to be thousands of clones Kix couldn't recognize by sight alone. He moved out of the way of the occupied soldiers and found a datapad lying on a nearby table that listed barracks assignments. His assigned squad was farther down the crowded sublevel.

Aside from the clattering of armor and the rustling of blasters and equipment, the temporary home of the 501st was as quiet as a Sith tomb. Barely a single word passed between the countless clones Kix went by, except in relation to troop staging or battle strategy for some conflict he still knew nothing about. _These boys act as if someone's died._ But clones didn't get shell-shocked like common mercenaries. The best way to honor a fallen soldier was to fight in his memory with a grim smile on your face. None of his brothers were smiling now. _I've met droids with more personality than these bastards. What's got into them?_

It was a relief to finally slip inside the room assigned to his squad and see someone he recognized. Hawk sat on his bunk, his pilot's helmet resting in his lap. He was double-checking a carton of thermal detonators, methodically depressing the triggers on each explosive to listen for the arming beep before placing them back. Kix had seen the process before, performed by specialized ordinance troopers. _But Hawk's a pilot. Has Appo got him pulling double-duty?_

"Good to see a friendly face," Kix said, going to sit on the cot opposite Hawk. "The way everyone is acting, you'd never know we're about to win the war."

Hawk didn't look up from his work. The tattooed chevrons on the sides of his shaved head flexed with concentration.

"Hawk. Buddy. You feeling okay?" After receiving silence in reply, Kix scoffed. "Come on. I go under for a week, and now everyone's giving me the cold shoulder. I didn't intend to miss the grand finale, you know. That bulkhead snuck up on me."

His brother paused for a moment, holding one of the detonators up to his ear to listen for abnormalities.

A horrible notion occurred to Kix. "Oh, no. Please don't tell me...Mandalore. Rex, Commander Tano, the rest of the 501st. They made it out of that mess in one piece, didn't they?" He'd administered an injection to Jesse for sleeping problems right before the battalion split apart. To think he might never see the man again…

"Commander Tano," Hawk spoke, blinking. It seems something Kix said had got through to him. "She's a traitor. CT-1338. There's been a rebellion."

"A rebellion?" Kix leaned back, uneasy. _Since when are we calling each other by our numbers?_

"Yes. Order sixty-six has been issued." Hawk set down the detonator and studied Kix, as if noticing him for the first time. His voice was flat and passionless. "The Jedi are guilty of treason against the Republic. We're preparing to march on the temple."

"Treason?" Kix gaped, dimly aware he sounded like an echoing jubba bird. "That can't be right. The Jedi are fallible, sure, just like the rest of us...we all remember General Krell." _But marching on the bloody Jedi Temple?_ If there was an order that said anything about that, Kix was damn certain he would've remembered it from his training on Kamino.

"We have our orders." Hawk narrowed his eyes, suspicion dawning somewhere in his evidently clouded mind. "Make sure you're ready when the time comes. Your kit is under the bunk. I cleaned your blaster."

"Hold on a kriffing second. I'm not about to start shooting Jedi just because of some order I've never even heard of." Kix ran a trembling hand over his bald head. The bandages were gone, but an ugly scar remained. "What about General Skywalker? There's no clone in the grand army foolish enough to try to shoot _him_ in the back."

"You don't sound like yourself, soldier." Hawk spoke in a dead voice. Suddenly the carton of detonators was set aside, and a DC-17 pistol was gripped loosely in his hand. "Maybe you hit your head too hard. Like I just said, we have our orders. _All_ of us know what has to be done. Tell me you're going to be ready, CT-1338."

A cold hollowness settled in the pit of Kix's stomach. He didn't dare glance down at the weapon in Hawk's lap. "Of course. You don't have to worry about me. The...the Jedi will pay for their treason."

The words tasted false on his lips, like a gift from a Hutt, but they seemed to mollify this man who wore the face of his brother. Hawk returned to his work with the detonators, paying Kix no attention.

 _A virus. One last desperate attack by the Separatists. Just like what happened to Tup on Ringo Vinda._ It was the only conceivable explanation for what was happening. Kix quickly pulled on his armor, mindful of his promise and Hawk's implied threat. At least with his helmet on, none of these infected soldiers could read his face. Kix fastened the straps on his first-aid pack and double-checked his blaster before holstering it at his side. The clones of the 501st were being turned against the Jedi by an outside force, and Kix had to warn someone higher up before it was too late. _Don't worry, Hawk. We'll find a way to save you._

* * *

He knew Sergeant Appo as a somewhat rigid but ultimately reliable soldier of the 501st. Kix loved all of his brothers unconditionally, accepting all their minute idiosyncrasies and subtle personalities in stride. He and Appo had never been especially close; the sergeant liked to keep to himself, for the most part, and Kix respected his privacy. It was tough to find time for yourself in an army where everyone shared your face. Still, they had shared moments of warm camaraderie in the past.

About a year ago, at 79's, Kix and Appo ended up next to each other at the bar. Appo had shared with him a flask of spirit from Devaron. The sergeant explained that he'd made a habit of collecting bottles of wine from every planet the 501st landed on.

"You must do a lot of drinking," Kix remarked, licking his lips. "Just watch out for your liver, sir. I wouldn't want to have to install you a replacement." He was mostly joking, but clone troopers did have a strange predilection towards addictive substances. Alcohol was only banned while on duty, but the popularity and prevalence of clone bars like 79's spoke well enough for the army's thirst.

"Oh, I don't partake myself." Appo smiled. "Gives me a headache like a herd of stampeding bantha. I just like to line up the bottles next to each other, see all the different colors. Sometimes, the battles all blur together in my head. I...don't want to forget where we've been. Who we've lost."

"Maybe someday you'll have your own shelf to set them on." Kix handed Appo back his flask. "If you ever invite me over, I promise not to suck up your supply."

"General Skywalker says Naboo is nice," Appo mused. "I'd like to hear what a waterfall sounds like. He says the planet is lousy with them."

Only in their most private moments, away from their Jedi generals and the clean lines of military installations, did the clones ever talk about a possible life after the war. It felt like a taboo subject, somehow, although no Kaminoan or clone commander or Jedi had ever warned them not to stretch their minds beyond the end of the fighting. Thinking of a time without war seemed like a betrayal of all those who had fallen, who would never know a time of peace.

Kix hadn't known Sergeant Appo well, but he'd liked what little he'd seen.

Commander Appo, on the other hand, was a stranger to him.

"A virus. Hmm." Appo stared at him across the length of the desk. They were both wearing their helmets, but the commander's gaze seemed to burn a hole through Kix's visor. "I don't want you distracted by this, CT-1338. We all need to be in battle-condition as soon as possible. A united force, a singular goal."

"Sir, yes, sir." Kix straightened and saluted sharply. _So, they've got to the commander as well._ If only Rex was here, he'd know what to do. _General Skywalker. He's the only one left that might be able to save the 501st._

Appo circled around the desk, his hands clasped behind him. "One hundred percent readiness. Nothing less will suffice, under these orders. Can I count on you to do your duty, CT-1338?"

Kix was grateful for his helmet. Otherwise, Appo might have seen the beads of sweat dripping down his neck. "My loyalty is to you, and to the Republic. You don't need to worry about me, commander."

"I wonder." Appo appraised him closely, their faces only a metre away from each other. "You know the punishment for treason."

The door slid open behind them, but Kix didn't turn to look. Appo stiffened. And then, to Kix's shock, he knelt.

"Lord Vader," Appo spoke. "The 501st is at your disposal."

Kix turned. _General Skywalker,_ he began to speak, but the words died in his throat like the miscarried eggs of some diseased reptilian. The hooded darkness in the doorway did bear a certain resemblance to Anakin Skywalker, but only in passing. Only in the way that a shattered planetoid drifting through space resembled the living world it had been. Lord Vader looked past Kix - no, looked _through_ him, as if he was as insignificant as a shadow on the wall - towards Commander Appo.

"Prepare the battalion for ground transport to the Jedi Temple courtyard." Vader's voice was hollow, lifeless. Nothing remained of the good cheer and confidence that inspired the 501st with such love for their general. "We're leaving immediately."

"As you command, my lord," Appo replied.

Somehow, Kix found himself on his knees as well. Maybe it was impossible to stand before such power and remain on your feet. He stared at the ground until Vader receded and the door slid shut again. Then he quietly left the commander's quarters, his heart beating like a timed explosive.

 _Leaving immediately._ Kix was thankful he'd already put on his kit; this Lord Vader didn't seem the type to forgive a lack of preparation in his soldiers. He made his way towards a communal refresher, not looking at any of the clones he passed. _I have to make them think I'm one of them. Cold, rigid, unfeeling. I have to be nothing but the orders I'm given._ A memory flashed through his mind, an image of another clone kneeling to another Jedi who had lost their way. _General Skywalker is not Pong Krell._ The latter had been cunning, ambitious, and ruthless in his disdain for the soldiers under his command. Though the same motivations that inspired Krell to turn against the Republic had made him understandable, even contemptible. Just another power-hungry Force-sensitive looking to tie their dewback to the Separatist cause, as Ventress and Dooku had before him.

There had been no hint of ambition in Vader's yellow eyes. Just anger, and hatred, and fear. _Something dreadful has happened while I was in that hospital bed._

The refresher was empty. Kix stumbled to the sink, pulling his helmet off. If the change in his brothers wasn't the result of a virus, if General Skywalker had been affected as well... _maybe the problem is with me._ What was more likely: that nearly five thousand troopers and their Jedi general had all decided to turn against the Jedi Order in the span of seven days, or that the head wound he received had been worse than he thought? Kix studied himself in the mirror, desperate for some sign that this was all some trauma-induced nightmare. _Wake up, you lousy nerf-herder._ Rex was probably standing over his sickbed, murmuring encouraging words. _I can't get to you, sir. I'm stuck in here. Please, help me wake up._

His knuckles were white on the sides of the sink. The clone looking back at him was bald, clean-shaven, with an aurebesh tattoo running beside his ear. _A GOOD DROID IS A DEAD ONE._ _Ironic, now. The only conversation I've had that made any sense was with the medical droid._ Aside from the new scar above his left eyebrow, Kix saw nothing in his features to suggest psychosis or an induced dream state. He drew a vibroknife and made a thin cut on his pointer finger. Then he watched the blood drip into the sink, as crimson and vibrant as the blade of a lightsaber.

"I'm awake," Kix said softly. He put his helmet back on, to hide the horror in his eyes. "This is happening. Fives...you were right all along." A conspiracy at the highest levels of government, his old friend had said. At the time, a seemingly ludicrous claim, born of madness and desperation. _He was the only one who saw what was coming, and his own brothers killed him for it. And now it's too late._

He knew what the old Anakin Skywalker would want him to do. _There are still lives that can be saved._ There was a holoterminal just outside. The corridor had been too crowded before, but now most of the battalion was streaming out of the building to load on to the transports. _There might still be time to warn the Jedi at the temple. To contact General Kenobi, or Commander Tano._ Even if the peacekeepers couldn't throw together a defense in time, they'd at least be able to evacuate the noncombatants. If Hawk was on ground duty, it meant the assault wouldn't be receiving air support. Any shuttles or transports would be able to leave without trouble.

Kix took a deep breath, and turned to the door.

"CT-1338." Hawk cocked his head. "You're out of position. Our squad has been assigned to support Lord Vader directly. Come with me."

There was nothing for it. Kix followed his brother out of the refresher. They proceeded quickly down the corridor, leaving the holoterminal behind. _And with it, any hope of survival for the Jedi in that temple._ He hardened his heart and curled his hands into fists to keep them from trembling. _I'm still a medic, no matter what orders I've been given. And in that respect, I will do my duty._

* * *

The transport flew low across the city, in one of the emergency evacuation lanes. They flew lights-out with reflective shielding, so to travellers above they appeared as only a shifting of light. _This is the way assassins travel,_ thought Kix miserably. _Creeping through our own city like bounty hunters. What's happening to the Republic?_

Inside the transport, thousands of clones stood shoulder to shoulder, their white and blue armor visible only in the stark glare of backup lights. No one spoke. There was nothing more to be said. The order had been issued, and they knew their duties - and for what came after? _It doesn't matter any longer,_ Kix realized. _If my brothers get their minds back, after what they plan to do tonight...death would be a mercy._

They were damned men bound for death. Kix blended in with them as best he could, trying to hide his despair and panic under a layer of fear. _Jedi can sense emotions, right? And so can our new general...whatever he is._ Lord Vader paced the deck, impatience rolling off of him like heat from a dying star. Kix had no doubt that if Vader was piloting this ship, he'd have been happy to ram it through the front of the Jedi Temple, just as infiltrators of the Sith Empire had done thousands of years ago. _Are the Sith the cause of all of this?_ He didn't know much about the ancient order, except that their philosophy seemed to attract fallen Jedi. _It's a question for greater men than me._

He noticed for the first time that Hawk and the rest of his squad had their rifles set to the kill setting. Kix clandestinely switched his own weapon off of stun, pushing down a wave of nausea. _Guess we aren't taking any prisoners._ Another byproduct of the change in management.

Whoever was running things now certainly had a dim view of life. Kix was grateful Fives and Echo weren't here to see this. _Fives is at peace, and Echo..._ the last he heard, the sole survivor of Domino Squad had joined up with Clone Force 99. _Wherever those boys are, I hope there aren't any Jedi nearby._ Maybe the damage the seppies had done to Echo had spared him from whatever was happening, just as Kix's head wound had apparently done.

His heart was less hopeful for Rex and Commander Tano. Those men were in tip-top fighting shape, with clear communication routes from the Core. _If this betrayal goes beyond Coruscant, then the other half of the 501st is as doomed as everyone on this ship._

The transport set down in the dark courtyard in front of the Jedi Temple. It seemed like an affront to the Force, putting this ugly metal weapon of war amidst towering statues of famous Jedi of yore and babbling water gardens.

The legion unloaded from the ship and assembled into marching formation in record time. Kix's squad was in the vanguard, right behind Lord Vader. If any Jedi watchman had noted their landing, then they had decided not to raise any alarms. The spires of the temple cast long shadows on the clones below. _Just look outside, somebody!_

They marched. Under the eternal lights of Coruscant, on doom-driven command from a phantom in the shadows, the 501st marched to ruin behind the man they had once loved. The night was silent except for the steady drumbeat of their footsteps on the stone. Kix could smell sweat, and blaster oil, and fear.

_This is the death of the Republic._

The first Jedi that came to greet them didn't have a chance to speak before Vader tossed them off the steps with a flick of his wrist. Kix swallowed, trying not to visualize their broken body so far below. The next few Jedi were more cautious in their approach, but Vader dealt with them with similar alacrity. Then the 501st entered the temple proper, and someone raised an alarm, and everything went to hell.

All of Kix's mournful thoughts and well-crafted sorrows fled like mynocks from a vessel set to self-destruct. Screams filled the air, lightsabers split through the darkness ( _no, you fools, you'll just make yourself targets)_ , and his brothers went to work. Different squadrons split off to secure the training dormitories, the landing pads, the archives and the war rooms. One went to activate the temple's distress beacon, so any Jedi within range would be pulled into a trap. Kix remained with Vader.

"Master Skywalker!" A teenage apprentice dashed from the shadow of a crumbling stone column. "Behind you!"

Vader raised his hand and closed it tightly, crushing the Jedi's windpipe. The girl writhed on the ground, clutching her throat. It took all of Kix's strength not to kneel down and try to help her. _She's already dead. I have to wait for my moment._

An Ithorian master ran at them from behind. Hawk and the other three clones opened fire, and a barrage of blue death flew at the Jedi. Kix fired above the Ithorian, praying that his brothers wouldn't note his lack of accuracy. _Never been much of a fighter, anyway._

The Jedi reflected most of their bolts, and two clones beside Kix fell to the ground. The Ithorian leapt over the railing to another engagement.

 _This, at least, is something I can do._ Kix knelt down and began taking a measure of the wounded men.

A hand gripped his shoulder.

"No," Hawk said coldly. "We don't stop."

Kix was incredulous. "I'm a medic, damn you. These men need-"

Hawk fired, reducing Kix's medical pack to scorched smithereens. Then he pulled Kix to his feet and pushed him in the direction of Lord Vader, who was already halfway down the passageway.

"Leave the dead," Hawk snapped. "Leave the wounded. No one stops shooting until it's done."

Kix and Hawk flanked Lord Vader on his rampage through the Jedi Temple, and fired at anyone who survived his onslaught. It became more and more difficult for Kix to hide his intentions, when so many of his shots went wild.

Jedi Master Tiplee challenged them. Tup had killed her sister on Ringo Vinda, months before. _The signs were all there. How were we all so blind?_

She held up well against Vader, considering the chaos and madness surrounding them all. Tiplee matched all the blows of his lightsaber with a lithe strength of her own, and even blasted him back with the Force when he attempted to seize her throat. In the end, her fate was inevitable. Vader had brought an army. _His_ army, men who knew how to fight beside him, and together they were a well-oiled machine.

 _Is this what the years of fighting were training for?_ Hawk's shot struck Master Tiplee in the side of the head. She wavered on her feet for a few seconds, as if in disbelief of her death, before falling to the ground like a broken doll. Smoke rose from the scorched pits of her eyes. Vader stepped over her body, already searching for his next target. Kix fought the urge to vomit.

A miasma of death filled the air of the Jedi Temple. Kix couldn't see far in any direction. He could scarcely breathe. The dust of pulverized stone clouded the air, and the crackling and hissing of lightsabers deafened him. _Fight harder,_ he urged the Jedi. _Kill us all, if you have to._ Clones were more easily replaced than Jedi. This was a war of total annihilation. They were on a high balcony near the upper levels, looking down into the heart of the temple. One by one, he watched lightsabers extinguish as their masters fell to the ground.

There were just too many clones. His brothers fell by the dozen and covered the ground of the monastery with their cooling corpses. But for every Jedi, there were fifty of his brothers. It was simply a matter of numbers, and blood, and time.

One of the squadrons had set fire to the gardens, by accident or design. Kix smelled smoke and burning flesh. _If I'm going to do something, it needs to be soon._

"There!" Hawk barked, pointing to a handful of small forms scrambling down a side passage. Lord Vader was ahead of them, engaged in lightsaber battle with several Jedi. _Now's my chance._

Kix ran with Hawk towards the figures he had seen, their feet slipping on blood and discarded robes. Their prey had fled into a storage closet.

"Stand back," Hawk warned, priming a thermal detonator. The explosion would do more than knock down the door: it would reduce anyone inside to lumps of charred flesh.

Kix glanced up and down the carbon-scored corridor. There were many corpses nearby, those that shared his face and otherwise, but no living souls at all.

 _Brother,_ Kix thought. _Forgive me._ He raised his rifle.

Hawk twisted, and they both fired at the same time.

"Blast!" Hawk's shot had taken him right in the gut. His armor had only absorbed a portion of the energy. Kix stumbled and braced himself on the wall. _He knew what was coming. He had his pistol ready in his other hand._ "Those damned...pilot reflexes."

Kix stepped over his brother's body and opened the storage closet. _Need to find a medpac, or a bacta patch. Can't help anyone if I die too soon._

"Don't worry, I'm…" He took a sharp breath, wincing at the pain it summoned. "I'm on your side."

A beam of light sprouted from the shadows and cut across his flank. He felt a hot and searing pain. Kix screamed and collapsed on to some boxes, nearly losing conciousness.

"Wait!" A child's voice.

In the glow of a golden lightsaber, six small faces looked down on him. A human, a Nautolan, a Tholothian, an Ithorian, a Rodian, and a Wookiee. The last child had been his attacker. The Tholothian had been the one to ward off the killing blow.

"Please," Kix gasped, "I'm not like the others. I...don't want to kill you."

The Wookiee growled something, her lightsaber still held at the ready.

"Gungi's right," the Rodian said. "He could be lying, so we'll let our guard down. Just like that other clone did, to lure us outta the kitchens."

The Nautolan boy squatted down, resting a hand on Kix's boot. "I dunno, Ganodi. He doesn't _feel_ like the other clones. Not all cold inside. Just...afraid. Like us."

The Tholothian whimpered and rubbed her forehead. "I don't know how you can sense anything _._ Everyone is dying out there. It _hurts_! The voices...the screaming. I can't keep them out of my head!"

"It's okay," the human said in a soothing voice. "You have to shield your mind, just like Master Yoda taught us. Build up the walls around yourself, Katooni."

"Master Yoda's dead," Katooni whispered, her eyes wide. Silent tears streamed down her face. "Everybody is dead, Petro. And we're gonna die, too."

"Just...hold on." Kix pushed himself to a sitting position. The pain of his wounds was receding, and a creeping coldness was taking its place. _Not a good sign._ "I don't want to hear that kind of talk. You're all getting out of here."

"How?" Ganodi asked, hands on her hips. "There's hundreds of clones outside! Maybe thousands!"

 _Not to mention one damned furious ex-Jedi,_ thought Kix. But best not to mention that.

"You're all small. Small enough to avoid detection, maybe." Kix's mind raced. He knew next to nothing about the layout of the Jedi Temple. "Ehh...let me think."

"Maybe…" The Nautolan bit his lip. "Maybe there's someplace we could hide?"

Kix considered. "No. Too dangerous. My brothers will tear this entire temple apart before they're through."

Katooni wrung her hands. "Why are they doing this? The clones were supposed to protect us."

"I'm sorry, kid. I don't know."

"The clothing chute!" Petro grinned. "I've been on laundry duty the past two weeks. The chute leads to an automated droid transport that leaves the temple every six hours. The last load departs at midnight. We're probably just small enough to fit through."

"Sounds like a plan," Kix replied. _Assuming the 501st didn't ground all incoming travel to the temple. Assuming Vader didn't send a squadron down there just in case._ He checked his helmet chronometer. "But you don't have much time."

The Ithorian trilled inquisitively.

"Yeah," Ganodi said. "The nearest laundry room is all the way down the corridor. What if we see more clones?"

Kix smiled grimly. "Just leave that to me. Though, I may need your help to stand. My legs seem to have given up on me."

With the help of the children, Kix struggled to his feet. He couldn't feel anything below his waist. The Wookiee roared something at him.

Petro translates. "Gungi's sorry she attacked you. Are you gonna be okay?"

"Of course," Kix lied. "Just a superficial wound." He might've been able to stabilize himself, if it were only the blaster burn or the lightsaber cut plaguing him - with both, well...Kix wished Hawk hadn't blasted his medic kit.

Katooni took a deep breath and looked him in the eye. "Tell us what to do."

If attack came from the rear, they were doomed. Kix and Hawk jerked down the passageway like puppets pulled with invisible strings. Three Jedi younglings stood in his shadow, and the other three crept behind the manipulated corpse of his dead brother. _You're gonna save some Jedi, Hawk. Whether you like it or not._ It took all the strength of these children to maintain the illusion: he could see the struggle in their trembling limbs and twitching eyes.

"Just bear with me," Kix said under his breath. "The laundry's not much further."

They were almost to the door when a clone turned the corner.

"Stop!" The soldier called out, and rushed to meet them. "CT-1138. The commander needs your squad to help secure the landing pads."

"Give Appo my best wishes. I don't think we're gonna make it over there anytime soon."

The clone was still raising his rifle when Kix shot him in the neck. _Go in peace, brother._

"Hurry," Kix hissed. "Get us inside. Someone might have heard the shot."

They collapsed into the laundry room in a heap, gasping and panting. Kix pulled Hawk inside by his foot and slammed his fist down on the door controls. Then he pulled himself across the floor to the chute. A smear of blood trailed behind him.

"You're dying," Katooni said. She stared at the blood, her face pale as the snows of Orto Plutonia. "I can feel the life draining out of you."

Kix chuckled, barely registering the agony in his torso. "Serves me right for trying to hide something from a Jedi."

Ganodi paced the small room. "What can we do? You helped us. We can't just leave you here!"

"Help me...take off this damned bucket."

Once the helmet was off, Kix sighed in relief. Sweat beaded on his forehead. To these children, he must look like a horror.

"Give me your lightsabers." Kix sat up against the wall. "Come on. We don't have much time."

The six younglings reluctantly handed over their weapons. It would be the least of what they lost this night.

"Listen to me." Kix swallowed. "From now on, you're not Jedi."

Petro's gaze hardened. "But-"

"No buts!" Kix gritted his teeth. "The word Jedi must become a curse to you. If you forget that, even for a minute, you're dead. Every one of you will die. And if you hear someone speak the word Jedi, or if you see someone that looks like me...run the other way."

Katooni sat on her knees, clutching one of his boots. "We need to find some bacta. You're coming with us!"

He ignored the child. "Find passage off-world. To Aldeeran, or the Outer Rim. To someplace the clones can't find you. Never let yourselves be separated. People will try to take advantage of you. Change your names, and don't trust anyone. There will be bounties...rewards for captured Jedi."

"Stop talking like that!" Ganodi's snout quivered. "We need you. You can't just die!"

Kix imagined he could hear armored boots rushing down the corridor. "It's time to go. Now!"

He marshalled all his willpower to keep his blaster aimed at the door. One by one, the children disappeared down the chute. Katooni was the last to go.

"I'll remember you," she promised tearfully. "Tell me your name."

"Kix," he said, forcing the word out. "And my brother here. His name was Hawk. He was a good man. Someone...made us do this, do you understand? We didn't want to hurt our Jedi."

"I understand," Katooni said. Kix wasn't sure he believed her, but it didn't matter now.

"Go!"

The last youngling left him. He arranged their lightsabers in a rough pile, and then blasted them to melted slag. Kix finally felt relaxed enough to die. Though it seemed to be taking a while, and his wounds were starting to hurt again. _Might need to take matters into my own hands._ There was also a need to hide the evidence. He couldn't do anything about the blasted clone outside, unfortunately. He relaxed his muscles, letting the pistol slip from his fingers.

It was funny. On the transport, he had imagined his last stand much more dramatically. Kix had pictured himself kneeling before Lord Vader, looking up at the fallen Jedi. Maybe he would have said some snappy one-liner before Vader's blue saber fell. _Nice knowing ya, general. Not sure the yellow eyes really go with the blue saber._

"Might prefer it this way," Kix mumbled. "Much less terrifying." He managed to pull Hawk's helmet off, and studied his brother's face. _What do I expect to see? Some sign of, what? Forgiveness? Gratitude?_ Hawk's empty eyes stared up at the ceiling. Kix cursed and passed the back of his hand down Hawk's face, closing them. _Whoever did this to us has a lot to answer for._

The door must have been well sound-proofed. He couldn't hear any fighting, and was thankful for it. Maybe the little ones would make it out alive. Maybe they wouldn't. Maybe they had never existed at all; they'd merely been formless images of a dying mind. _At least I tried._ Kix held on to the warm thought as he slipped into the darkness.

Appo would never get to hear his waterfall on Naboo. Jesse would never know what a full night's rest felt like, uninterrupted by dreams of war and death. The six younglings would never become the Jedi they were born to be. But at least he'd been able to do this last small thing, this final act of desperate friendship between the Jedi Order and the men created to serve them. _My name is Kix. I loved my Jedi, and I loved my brothers, and I deserve my rest._ He reached for one of Hawk's thermal detonators.


End file.
